by Rose Gordon
“Jane, you’ll have to forgive Simon, he hasn’t any younger sisters to know how to dote properly.” She flashed her sister that wide, encouraging smile that had the power to stir a firestorm of desire within him. “Not to worry though, next time you see him, he’ll remember what’s expected of him.”
“And have you taken it into your mind to make sure he’s been properly trained?” came a stern male voice.
“Papa,” Rae said, a hint of surprise in her voice. She embraced her father with the same affections she had her mother. “Mama, Papa, please allow me to introduce you to Mr. Simon Appleton.”
Fortunately for Simon, he knew how to properly act with adults and removed his hat then gave the duo a low bow. “At your service,” he said before returning his hat to his head.
“And just when is the service?” Mr. Hughes’ tone was as unyielding as his face.
An uncomfortable silence stole over the room.
“They’re not getting married, Papa,” Jane announced—apparently she’d escaped the discomfort that threatened to suffocate everyone else.
“The devil you say,” Mr. Hughes snapped, the protruding vein in his forehead pulsating. “I might not be a noble, but my daughter was not born to be a mistress.”
From the corner of Simon’s eyes, he saw Rae blanch. “I have no such intentions, sir,” Simon cut in smoothly.
“So you came here to speak to her father first,” Mrs. Hughes surmised with a clap of her hands.
“It certainly would be prudent to be close to her father, should we decide we suit,” Simon agreed.
Every inch of Rae’s skin from her scalp to the soles of her feet tingled at Simon’s words. Though he looked at Mama and Papa when he said them, they were for her. She just knew it. Did he have a genuine interest in her? She dismissed the thought with a harsh laugh. Simon, it would seem, had a romantic interest in just about everyone in a skirt. Well, the unmarried one’s anyway. She sobered. That wasn’t entirely true… He’d heavily pursued Isabelle Knight who had actually been married. Estranged, but still married. And now reconciled.
“Henrietta dear, is something the matter?” Mama asked, placing her rough hand on Rae’s forehead.
“I’m a-thinking she don’t think they’ll suit,” Papa said with a chuckle.
“And you find that humorous?” Simon asked flatly.
“Of course I do,” Papa said, grinning. “You’re exactly the kind she used to spin daydreams about.”
Simon arched a brow. “The kind? And what kind would that be?”
“A toff,” Papa said without hesitation. “She used to lie on that sofa—” he gestured toward the offending piece of furniture she and Simon had been occupying when Mama had entered the room “—and dream about being a mistress of a grand estate with servants all about to fetch her whatever she fancied.”
Mortification swept over Rae and she chanced a glance at Simon. Would he look relieved that he wasn’t betrothed to such a selfish ninny? She frowned. The wretch grinned widely, the corners of his mischievous eyes wrinkled like a fan.
“Truly?” Simon asked.
Rae fisted her hands in her skirts so she wouldn’t smack him!
“Yah,” Mama said with a laugh. “She always had to recline at a forty-five degree angle and Mr. Hughes would have to drag her away to get her to go outdoors.”
“It would have been tragic to have gone to London with sunspots,” Rae said with a forced smile.
Mama and Papa both scoffed while Simon’s eyes softened. Rae broke eye contact with him. She could appreciate his concern, but didn’t want to invite questions later.
“I suppose it worked,” Papa said, oblivious to Rae’s discomfort. He shook his head. “And yet, she pales at the thought of marrying you.” He swiped the back of his greasy hand over his forehead. “My wagon isn’t going to fix itself.” Then, without another word Papa stalked out the door, Mama on his heels, taking the tension they’d stirred up within Rae with them.
“That was odd,” Simon said without ceremony when the door banged shut behind her parents.
“You aren’t saying my parents are odd, are you?” Rae teased.
“No!” Simon cleared his throat. “Er…no, I didn’t mean to imply anything of the sort.” He raked his hand through his hair. “If we were in London, we’d be officially betrothed now.”
Rae waved her hand through the air, forcing a shrug. “What is it Brooke is always saying about rules being more relaxed in the country?”
Simon shook his head ruefully. “Not like this.”
“Oh?”
“Had someone happened upon us sharing the sofa together, even at a house party, we’d be betrothed.” He tilted his head to the side. “You’ve attended a house party before, no?”
Rae shook her head. “That was Papa’s only request. That I not be allowed to attend a house party.”
“I see,” Simon said slowly; his expression belied his words.
Rae shifted uncomfortably. “Papa feels as if his say regarding me has been stolen, with Drake acting as my guardian.” She bit her lip. Though it infuriated Papa to no end, it was for the best that Drake be her official guardian. He knew far more about London Society than anyone with the last name of Hughes. He also had been the one to set up a dowry for her.
“That’s why he didn’t demand we wed when he saw us together,” Simon said slowly, bringing her to present.
Rae nodded. “He has no power to make such a demand on my behalf.”
“But he does on mine!” squealed Jane with a wide smile.
Simon and Rae both laughed.
“Indeed, he does,” Rae agreed. She idly tapped her index finger against her lips and squinted at Simon. “But are you sure you’d want him?” She dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “He’s so much older than you.”
“I don’t care,” Jane said with a shrug. “He’s mandsome.”
“Is that all you think about?” Rae teased her sister.
“No. But it sure helps.” She held her hand out toward Simon, wiggling her fingers. “Now if only he knew how to treat a lady.”
Simon’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he reached for Jane’s dirty hand. He leaned forward and brushed a kiss across her knuckles, making both Jane’s and Simon’s cheeks flush—presumably for different reasons.
“Perfect,” Rae said. “Now that Simon has been properly instructed how to greet you forevermore, why don’t you go find a few others and bring out a game for us all to play.”
Jane scampered off before Rae had finished her sentence.
“Game?”
Rae narrowed her eyes on the peculiar man in front of her. “You are familiar with games, are you not? Chess? Draughts? Tin soldiers?”
Simon pursed his lips. “Yes, I’ve played chess and draughts before.” He playfully wagged a finger at her. “But I have the oddest feeling it won’t be either of those games that little girl will return with.”
“Likely not,” Rae agreed, trying in vain to keep her features impassive. “But whatever they bring, you will play.” She lightly jabbed her index finger into his shoulder. “And enjoy.”
Just as Simon predicted, it wasn’t the pieces to chess or draughts that Jane held in her hands when she returned. No, it was a large, slightly misshapen ball. “Let’s play bowls!”
12
Oh gads. Anything but lawn bowls. Simon hated, nay detested, lawn bowls. A game with less importance he couldn’t name. Except perhaps pall mall. He shuddered.
“Don’t act so excited, Simon,” Rae teased laughingly, taking the bowl from her sister.
“I’m glad I can amuse you,” he drawled as a sticky little hand latched onto his palm. His first instinct was to pull his hand away and go in search of the nearest basin of water. He refrained. This was all part of Rae’s plan of making him more comfortable around children, he knew. A skill he’d need someday if he were to have spawn of his own. He cocked his head to the side and studied Rae. What would her children be like? The answer came to
him a half-second later when a little girl weighing no more than five and a half stones nearly pulled his arm out of the socket, yanking him in the direction of the door.
Auburn ringlets, rosy cheeks, a wide, unabashed grin, and not an ounce of shyness in her form. That’s exactly what Rae’s daughter would be like.
Simon squeezed the girl’s hand and started walking with her. “I’m coming, I’m coming.”
Outside, a small passel of urchins were waiting for the trio. Silently, Simon counted their number. Six, seven with the one holding his hand. Unease built in his gut.
“Simon, allow me to formally introduce you to all of my brothers and sisters.” As if sensing his discomfort, she placed her hand on his arm and sent him an encouraging smile. “In order,” she said to the brood.
With a few grumbles, the little urchins formed a line.
“This is Peter,” she said, pointing to the first boy who’d referred to Simon as a toff as soon as they’d disembarked the carriage. “He’s the eldest at fifteen.” Rae pointed at the next four boys in line, the ones who’d come barreling out of the house as soon as the door had been opened. “Lucas, Samuel who you’ve already had the pleasure of exchanging words with. That one is Joseph and that little imp is Jacob.”
Simon nodded to each of the boys. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“And you’ve already met Jane,” Rae said with a wink.
The little girl held her hand out toward Simon.
He dutifully obliged and was greeted by another dirty hand to kiss.
“This is Dara, she’s six,” Rae said when Simon was done kissing her hand.
Simon murmured a greeting to the two little girls, though he didn’t know why. He’d just kissed their hands for heaven's sake!
“Is this all?” He prayed his voice sounded smoother to their ears than his own.
“All that are safe to meet,” Samuel said, swallowing hard. He bowed his head and gave it a little shake. “Mama had Peter and me tie up Isaac behind the house this morning when he started foaming at the mouth during breakfast.”
Simon didn’t know what to make of the stoic boy’s statement. Was he funning Simon or was there a rabid boy tied up behind the house? Simon looked to Rae, but she gave nothing away.
“’Tis a pity,” Simon drawled. He crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back on his heels. “Boy would have fetched many a shiny coins at Covent Gardens.”
“Covent Gardens?” Jane asked.
“It’s where all the addled of London gather to show their skills and oddities to amuse the masses and make some coin.”
“Is that were Mrs. Saxon went?” asked Joseph.
Simon didn’t know who Mrs. Saxon was, but Rae must have for she’d developed a coughing fit. “No,” she wheezed between coughs.
“That’s too bad,” Lucas said, shaking his head. “Lord Sinclair could have made a fortune on her.”
Simon started. He knew Lord Sinclair. He was England’s most notorious recluse. Jilted and scarred as a young lad, he’d only recently started coming to London. Whether it was to appease his wife who was fast friends with Lady Watson and of course Lady Drakely or to visit his sister at the asylum, Simon didn’t know. Understanding took root. “Ah, Mrs. Saxon.” Formerly Lady Olivia Sinclair, before running away to the Americas with a commoner, was right where she needed to be. “No, Covent Gardens is more of a place for ladies with beards and men who juggle daggers and swallow swords with flaming tips.”
“Ladies with beards?” Dara said in awe. Her grey eyes lit. “Mayhap that’s where Sarah Groggins got the blunt for her new pianoforte.”
Rae choked again. “Mayhap,” she agreed. “Let’s play bowls.”
“Shall we use Isaac as the jack?” Simon asked.
“Er…Simon,” Rae said cautiously. “Isaac doesn’t exist.”
Simon made his eyes flare wide. “No? Hmmm, then shall we make his creator the jack?” he asked, looking right at Samuel.
Samuel shook his head wildly.
Simon grinned at the lad. “Afraid I’ll leave a knot on your leg to match the one I left on your head?”
Samuel’s four brothers laughed.
“I like him, Henny,” Peter said, still chuckling. “He’s much better than Fish Face.”
Henny? Fish Face? Simon swung his gaze to a rigid Rae. Now it was his turn to comfort her. He moved closer to her and placed his hand on the small of her back.
“Well, he’s mine,” said Jane, coming up to grab Simon’s free hand.
“Heaven have mercy,” Peter said, rolling his eyes, garnering another round of laughter from his siblings. All except Jane who was very adamant in her claim to Simon.
He’d be flattered if Rae had made such a declaration. He immediately pushed away the thought and squeezed Jane’s hand. She wanted so terribly bad to be treated like a debutante. He could do that. “How about if we start with today and see where it goes from there?” Simon said to the little girl.
The little girl’s face beamed at his words as he imagined Rae’s did, too.
“Perhaps it should be the girls and Simon against us young bucks,” Joseph said, puffing his chest out.
If only it had been so simple.
But as Simon was quickly learning, it wasn’t just the upper class that made everything more difficult than it needed to be. No, that was a trait that knew no class for the seven children aging in range from barely out of leading strings to bordering on old enough to be working to support the family were shouting, “Stone, parchment, shears! Stone, parchment, shears!” in unison.
Simon lifted his eyebrows at Rae. “What’s going on?”
“They’re chanting how they want to divide up their teams.”
“Huh?”
She started to giggle then stifled it with an awful-sounding cough. “Stone, parchment, shears,” she said, her voice still uneven from her laughter. “It’s another game.”
Simon knit his brows. “So, children play games…to determine how they’re going to play another game?”
“Yes.” Rae’s simple answer confused him even more.
He shook his head. “This is madness.”
“Not yet,” Rae countered. “You’ll see madness in a minute when they start playing.”
“I’m eager beyond words.”
“Simon,” Samuel called.
Simon jerked his head in the lad’s direction. “Yes?”
“You play against Peter first.”
Simon had a sinking feeling in his stomach that said they weren’t talking about him rolling his lawn bowl toward the jack. They wanted him to play their ridiculous game. “Why don’t you all work out the teams, and I’ll join where you tell me.”
“No,” Samuel shook his head wildly, his loose curls waving about. “You have to play for your spot. It’s a rule.”
“I don’t remember that rule in bowls,” Simon challenged, garnering him a little nudge in the side from Rae’s elbow. He looked at her. “Well?”
“It’s part of the rules at the Hughes’ house,” Peter said, taking the bowl from Simon and handing it to Lucas. He turned back to Simon and held his left hand flat with his palm up. With his right hand he made a fist and placed it sideways, with the thumb on top, on top of his open palm. “Let’s go.”
Around them, the others continued their noisy chorus of “stone, parchment, shears.”
Resigning himself to the fact that he wasn’t getting out of this nonsense, he put his hands into the same position as Peter and said, “Now what?”
All noise stopped as the bowl that Simon had handed Lucas hit the ground with a soft thud.
“You…you…you don’t know how to play?” Peter asked when he was able to close his mouth enough to form words.
“No.” Simon banged his fist on his palm. “Are you going to show me or gape?”
“Gape,” Peter said automatically.
He wasn’t the only one, either. Dara, Jane, Lucas, Joseph, Samuel, and even little Jacob who couldn’t
be more than two years old all had their mouths open, too.
The only one who didn’t was Rae who wore a wide, unabashed grin. “I don’t think we’ll be needing the bowls, after all,” she said in a sing-song tone. “Now, that you all can sleep peacefully tonight that you haven’t been cheated by not being able to attend a fancy school, why don’t you educate him?”
“It’s only you who feel cheated about such nonsense,” Peter said flippantly as he moved his right leg back and reached his hands out in front of him as if he were a warrior in the Crusades.
From the corner of his eye, Simon noticed the way Rae winced at her brother’s words. It must be hard for her to live in her older sister’s shadow. Lady Drakely had been allowed to attend a girls’ school and turn right around and snare herself a viscount.
“All right, toff,” Peter said in a tone Simon couldn’t place, hitting his fisted hand against his open palm. “This is stone.” He flattened his top hand and slapped it hard against his open palm. “Parchment.” Creating another sideways fist, he uncurled his index and middle finger and hit the bottom of his fist hard against his other palm. “Shears.”
Simon nodded his understanding.
Closing his left hand, he held out two “stones,” then converted one to “shears”. “Watch close now, toff. Stone breaks shears.” He smacked his stone against his shears then made that hand flat. “Parchment covers stone.” He brought his open hand on top of his rock. “And shears—” he converted his rock to shears— “cuts through parchment.” To emphasize his point, Peter pretend to cut his flat hand, then dropped them at his sides. “Think you can play now?”
“I’m not sure, I might require another demonstration.” Simon bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning at the unblinking lad.
“All right.” Peter’s annoyance was almost comical. “Parchment covers—”
“Stone,” Simon finished. “I don’t really need another explanation.”
“Then why did you say that you did?” the boy demanded.
“To see your jaw drop again. I think it’s a good look for you.”
Peter pursed his lips and resumed his warrior pose. “All right, show on three.”
